River of Shadows (Underworld Gods #1)(41)

And now he’s staring down at me, the electricity in his unseen gaze felt but not seen. “I think I just saw my future in your eyes,” he says quietly. “And I saw your future too. Think before you act, little bird. You’re not ready for flight yet.”

He raises his hand, the chain wrapped around it, threatening me.

I get to my feet, grinding my teeth. If it weren’t for my father, perhaps that long fall over the edge would be worth it, even if it ended with my demise.

But my father is what matters most. He’s here. He’s why I’m here, why I came. And I can’t fuck it all up now because I want to break Death’s shiny skull with my own hands.

Careful, Sarvi says to me as the unicorn walks past me, the size of a Clydesdale. I may have given you a safe ride here, but I serve but one master.

Sarvi walks toward the huge glass doors into the tower, so big they must stand at least twenty-feet high. They open by people or mechanics unseen until the equine disappears inside. For whatever reason, I didn’t expect a unicorn to waltz inside the castle, but at this point I clearly know nothing.

I look over at Death, who is still holding the chain in a threatening manner.

“Sarvi seems pretty loyal,” I say to him. “Seems odd that you would need protection since you’re a God.”

He grunts in amusement. “Gods are vulnerable to other Gods.”

“How?”

Again, I can feel him smiling. “And why would I tell you any of my weaknesses?”

“You don’t have to. It’s enough to know you have them.” I give him a small smile. “I’ll figure out the rest.”

And then I’ll kill you.

“Fairy girl,” Death says, taking a step toward me. “At least see your father first before you make any rash decisions.”

“You can read minds?” I sneer, feeling violated.

“I can read mortals,” he says evenly. “It’s my job. To know someone in life is to know them in death. I know all that you are, Hanna, all that you will be, all that you’ll do. Rarely am I proven wrong.”

“Is that so? You already said I’m surprising.”

He laughs wickedly. “You suck up every compliment like a bottom feeder, don’t you?”

I feel my face fall. I can’t help it. He’s got me there, one of my biggest fucking flaws, and he already knows it. This life-long incessant need to be complimented, validated, to feel I’m special in regards to something.

“And yes, you are strangely surprising,” he goes on. “Perhaps because your entry in the Book of Souls isn’t complete. Because you haven’t died…yet. If you were to die at ninety, then that would give you sixty-six years to discover yourself, grow into a new person, change your ways. Right now I see you as an insignificant twenty-four-year-old, but I can’t know the person you might become, the one waiting in your own shadows to finally find the light to grow.”

He gives the chain a little yank, enough to make me glare.

“Come on. You don’t want to keep your father waiting, do you?” he says.

He walks toward the open doors and I follow.

He’s right. I need to keep my focus on my father, on why I’m here. I guess the reason why my mind keeps shying away from it and latching onto anger is because I’m frightened. I’m so afraid that Death won’t uphold his end of the deal. I’m scared that I might not even be able to see my father. I’m terrified that my father might already be dead and I’m here for nothing.

At the last thought I have to fight the tears back. I refuse to cry in front of Death. That’s something I’ll promise myself right here, right now, no matter what happens. For the last week I thought my father was dead and I’ve had to live with that awful, life-changing, soul-crushing reality, and now that I know he’s alive, that he can be cured and set free…to have it taken away again would be even worse than if I never opened that casket. To lose someone you dearly love will ruin you. To have them die and have a second chance, only to die again…I don’t know what kind of person I would become after that. I think I’d become an animal, one composed of pain, to suffer eternally.

At that, Death glances at me over his shoulder as we walk across a circular room and I get another glimpse of his polished onyx skull gleaming in the light of the black candles that flicker from various holders on the walls.

“If you can put your murderous rage away for a moment,” he comments, “I’ll give you a tour of your forever home. This is what we call Sarvi’s landing, for obvious reasons. Sarvi doesn’t stay in a stable like the other equines, being sentient and all he prefers to have his own space indoors.”

Despite everything going on, I can’t help but be curious. I look around the room. It doesn’t look like it was made for a horse. The floors are black marble, the walls a navy wallpaper with raised red filigree. There’s a bunch of moss to one side with hay sticking out from underneath, trampled down until it resembles a bed, and there’s a long low table made of bones lined with various large bowls. At another end is a single armchair made of charcoal leather and a small bookshelf beside it. Beside that is a stand, the kind you’d see as a teacher’s podium, an open book on display.

I’m trying to picture Sarvi somehow sitting in that chair, then I realize the chair is supposed to be for guests. Human-sized guests. The image I conjure nearly makes me laugh and I realize I must be delirious. I wonder what it feels like to truly lose your mind. Would I even know?